


lemon cakes and lemon trees

by hholocene



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Minor Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 23:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19050757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hholocene/pseuds/hholocene
Summary: Five times Daenerys and Sansa surprise each other. Or missing scenes for season 8.





	lemon cakes and lemon trees

**Author's Note:**

> They deserved better than petty fighting.
> 
> Warning: some discussion of rape but nothing graphic.

**i.**

 

“These lemon cakes are delicious, Lady Sansa,” Daenerys remarks.

 

“I’m glad you like them, Your Grace,” Sansa says politely.

 

Daenerys takes another hearty bite, and wipes the syrup from the corner of her mouth.

 

Sansa is taken aback by how much the Queen appears to enjoy them.

 

“They’re my favourite,” Sansa finds herself saying softly.

 

Arya makes a joke from their childhood and Jon laughs with his favourite sister.

 

But Daenerys watches the embarrassed Lady of Winterfell, cheeks blushing bright red.

 

“I’ve always had a fondness for lemons myself,” she tells the elder Stark sister.

  


**ii.**

 

In the glasshouses of Winterfell, Daenerys finds Sansa tending to roses.

 

“They’re beautiful,” she comments.

 

“Thank you,” Sansa responds.

 

“Roses are the sigil of House Tyrell.”

 

“Were,” Sansa corrects on whim. “House Tyrell is no more.”

 

As much as she tries to keep her features plain, a deep sorrow betrays her. It does not go amiss by Daenerys.

 

“I wish I could have prevented Lady Olenna’s death,” Daenerys informs her.

 

Sansa nods out of decorum, but her mind is far away.

 

“Margaery did not deserve to die,” she murmurs to herself.

 

“I did not realise you were familiar with the Tyrells,” Daenerys remarks, breaking Sansa’s stupor.

 

“I met them when I was captive in King’s Landing,” Sansa explains. “They were always kind to me.”

 

“It’s a pity I never met Lady Olenna’s grandchildren.”

 

“Loras and Margaery were both lovely. But Margaery...she was very clever. She was beautiful and brilliant,” Sansa remembers. Her fingers thumb the roses carelessly, until a thorn punctures her porcelain skin.

  


**iii.**

 

“I’ve heard tales of your bravery,” Daenerys says one evening.

 

“My bravery?” Sansa replies in surprise. She brings her cup of wine to her lips, a shield against the Queen’s machinations

 

Daenerys observes her seriously.

 

“You were betrothed to Joffrey Baratheon, and then married to Ramsay Bolton. Two evil men, and you outlived them both.”

 

“I,” Sansa is unsure of how to respond, “I was just surviving.”

 

“It takes strength to survive,” Daenerys states quietly. Her fingers play with her dragon brooch. For once, the Dragon Queen appears nervous.

 

“My first husband was not kind. Not at the beginning,” Daenerys shares and gives Sansa a knowing look. Sansa remains silent, but holds the Queen’s gaze. An invitation to continue. “He was not as cruel as so many other men, and in time, he even came to love me. But I still remember those nights he raped me. I’ve never felt so powerless in my whole life, so broken.”

 

Sansa listens intently, haunted by her own memories that come to the fore.

 

“It’s hard to forget, isn’t it?” Sansa admits, her sadness momentarily overwhelming. “Sometimes, I can still feel him on me.”

 

Tentatively, Daenerys reaches out and holds Sansa’s hand. She squeezes it firmly and gives the younger girl a remorseful yet encouraging smile.

 

“It gets better with time,” she assures.

 

Sansa would have never imagined there could be comfort in the Queen’s company.

  


**iv.**

 

“You say you want Northern independence. What if I simply gave the North greater autonomy?”

 

Sansa frowns, “How so?”

 

“What does independence afford you? The right to rule as you judge fit. But you would still need allies. A strong relationship with the rest of the Six Kingdoms would be necessary. Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

Sansa bites her lips hesitantly, “What are you proposing?”

 

“I give you independence in all but name. The North remains part of the Seven Kingdoms but the Warden, or _Wardoness_ , rules largely without impediment. They will abide by few common stipulations: no raping, no pillaging of other regions.”

 

“If it is independence in all but name, why not just grant it?”

 

“You must understand if I give everyone independence, they will all want it. And the North occupies nearly half of Westeros, I cannot forsake it so easily.”

 

Sansa sighs, her frustration obvious.

 

“Have you spoken to Jon about this?” Sansa asks.

 

Daenerys gives a wave of her hands, not giving regard to the question.

 

“Let us not pretend to be fools,” she says. “We both know he is not the one I need to convince.”

 

“He is our King,” Sansa claims weakly. Daenerys nearly laughs.

 

“And yet he can scarcely persuade anyone to respect me, the Queen he chose,” she points out with a cutting undertone.

 

“It is not his fault,” Sansa defends, even as she remembers her open hostility to her brother’s new Queen. A trickle of guilt touches her.

 

“We are stubborn people,” she grants hesitantly. “The North remembers. The last memory of Targaryen rule is not so generous.”

 

“I am not my father,” Daenerys counters vehemently.

 

“ _No, that you are not._ ”

 

Sansa surprises herself at her own impulse. Daenerys is equally stunned at the sudden admission but she jumps at the opening it affords her.

 

“I want to help people,” Daenerys declares with a burning intensity. “I know what it is to have nothing. To be victim to the whims of men, abused by those that are more powerful. I promise you this, in the world that I build, no one shall suffer through such injustices again.”

 

They say dragons are fire made flesh. Sansa has never known it to be truer.

  


**v.**

 

Standing on the Winterfell ramparts together, the watch their armies prepare for the march south.

 

“I hope you kill Cersei,” Sansa says.

 

“Me too,” Daenerys agrees with a small smile.

 

“I suppose, what can a lion do against a dragon?” Sansa acknowledges.

 

“Cersei Lannister is not be underestimated.”

 

“No. That she is not,” Sansa concedes. “King’s Landing is a viper’s pit. I never found much joy there, but maybe you will.”

 

Daenerys shrugs half-heartedly.

 

“When I was very young, I lived in a house with a red door. Viserys and I often had to run from place to place, but that red door, it always stayed with me. It had felt like home,” Daenerys muses out loud. “I wanted to go back there -- we couldn’t of course -- but then I grew older and my thoughts turned to the Red Keep.”

 

Daenerys turns to face Sansa, her voice wistful.

 

“There was a lemon tree outside my window. I still remember  the smell. If I win this war, I might plant lemon trees across the Red Keep.”

 

“Lemon trees,” Sansa repeats softly.

 

“You must think I’m mad.”

 

“No, no,” Sansa insists and a deep tenderness takes hold of her. “I think that is quite wonderful.”

 

Daenerys smiles at her with disarming warmth.

 

“Perhaps I’ll plant one in Winterfell,” Sansa tells her.

 

At that, the Queen only smiles brighter.

  
  



End file.
